Man with the Dark Beard by Annie Haynes

before looking out for, another job.
    So much, apparently, Iris Houlton knew. After a pause she proceeded:
    â€œI heard the other day of something that might suit you. A friend of mine, the one who got me the engagement with Dr. Bastow, wrote to ask if I knew of any young doctor who would go as assistant to an old man in a suburb – assistant first, with a view to becoming partner. I thought it might suit you.’’
    â€œIt would suit me right enough,” Wilton said moodily. “But, though I might go as assistant, I should never be able to become a partner, for that, I conclude, means putting money into the affair. And I have none, and no chance of any, except what I can get by the work of my two hands,” spreading out the members in question.
    â€œBut my friend didn’t say anything about money,” said Iris, wrinkling up her brows. “I don’t believe any will be wanted.”
    â€œThe job will be a rather unique job, then, and your old man will be rather a unique old man,” returned Wilton. “Where does he hang out, by the way?”
    â€œOh, Hammersmith, I think, or was it Hendon? I am sure it began with an ‘h.’ You see I don’t know him myself, only through my friend. I will let you know. But stay? was it Hounslow? I believe it was!” 
    Wilton could not forbear a smile.
    â€œRather vague, isn’t it? Perhaps it may turn out to be Halifax!”
    â€œThere! now you are making fun of me!” Iris pouted. “I can’t help having a bad memory. I tell you what, Mr. Wilton, my flat is quite near Hawksview Mansions. Come in with me now and I will show you the letter with all the particulars, and give you some tea too.”
    â€œYou are very kind!”
    Wilton hesitated. Some instinct seemed to hold him back; but he brushed it aside. He had always got on with Iris Houlton. There was no reason why he should not accept her invitation now.
    â€œI shall be delighted,” he ended at last. “But you don’t know what you are letting yourself in for, Miss Houlton. I have been walking it seems to me for hours, and you behold a very hungry man. I shall devour your substance unconscionably, I’m afraid.”
    â€œGood gracious! Please come at once!” Iris laughed. “My maid makes delicious sandwiches. And don’t they say it is ill talking on an empty stomach?”
    â€œI believe I have heard something of the kind,” Wilton said as he turned with her.
    Hawksview Mansions were close at hand. As they waited for the lift Wilton could not help marvelling at the extraordinary change that had come over his companion’s circumstances. It was evident to the most casual observer that the flat must be a very expensive one. The locality, the lift, the porter, alike emphasized the fact, which was rendered more certain when the door of Iris Houlton’s own apartment was opened by a smart, spic-and-span maid.
    â€œTea, as soon as you can, Downes, please,” Iris said as she turned into the drawing-room. “And plenty of sandwiches! Now, Mr. Wilton, I am terribly house-proud. What do you think of my abode?”
    â€œI think it perfectly charming,” Wilton replied truthfully as he glanced round. He had rarely seen a more restful-looking room. The walls were of a pale grey, the lines unbroken, save that over the high, black mantelpiece there hung a watercolour seascape, a gem in its way, signed by a famous artist, and that between the two windows which were curtained with grey damask, exactly the colour of the walls, there was a long strip of tapestry in wonderful old colours, faded now. The middle of the floor was covered by an Aubusson rug, the predominant colour of which was a subdued rose. There was not much furniture. A couple of wide, deep arm-chairs stood one on each side of the fireplace, in which, springlike as was the weather, there burned a small clear fire.
    Further back there was a